


Natural Magic (The Paper Dragon Remix)

by glim



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 2015 Camelot Remix, Camelot Remix, Dragons, M/M, Magic, Magic Revealed, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Magic is like this: </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ever unfolding, perpetually changing, shifting, quicksilver and clouds. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Magic (The Paper Dragon Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sassafrasx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassafrasx/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Signs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067331) by [sassafrasx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassafrasx/pseuds/sassafrasx). 



> I enjoyed your stories so very much, sassafrasx! This different take on the magic reveal was so charming, though, that I wanted to write something based on it. I hope you enjoy this fic! Thank you so much for writing the story that inspired this one :D

Merlin closes his eyes and calms his breathing to an even, slow pace. First, he thinks about himself and about the beat of his heart, the rhythm low and steady under his skin; then he lets his mind reach out beyond himself. He thinks of the calm of the forest around the castle, the quiet, cool darkness beneath the canopy of trees. When he has thought about it long and hard enough that it feels as if he could reach out and touch the trees and grass and leaves, he sends out a small tendril of magic. 

His heart skips in his chest, hopeful, and his mind turns to all the good and great things outside the walls of Camelot. The sea and stars, the lake of Avalon, and the silver crescent moon reflected in its waters. 

Then, just as he is about to clasp that thought close and let his magic shape it into something just as fine and shining as the silver moon itself, he thinks of Arthur. 

He thinks of Arthur and his heart jumps; he feels his magic swell inside him, a wave of warmth that builds up in his chest. He smiles and thinks of Arthur, of his voice and the warmth of his hand on Merlin's shoulder. 

For a moment, he feels as if his magic could burst out of him and he is certain this time he's managed it, he's managed to create the perfect gift for Arthur. 

When he opens eyes, Merlin's heart sinks and the warmth that had filled him rapidly disappears. 

A small pile of silver stones are all that appear in front of him. River rocks, he thinks, and pushes them into a small circle with a sigh. 

*

The tiny paper dragon comes last, after the river rocks and silver fox, the purple rabbit and the winter dove. 

Merlin's not sure how long he spent trying to figure what it really was he wanted to give Arthur for Yule, eyes closed, stretched out along the length of his bed. 

All he can think of is Arthur. Well, Arthur, and the crushing desperation that is starting to overcome him as Yule gets closer and closer. 

Merlin wonders if, perhaps, there is no way for him to show Arthur how he feels, no sign he can give Arthur that says he wants his Yule to be warm and happy, that he wants the coming year to be a safe one, that he hopes, maybe, Arthur might be able to find it in himself to notice Merlin for what he really is. 

Not that Merlin himself knows how to define himself or the feeling that fills him when he tries to transform feeling into magic, and magic into the right gift to give his prince. 

He reaches out to crush the dragon in his hand, but the thought flashes from his mind before he realizes he cannot. It is tiny and red, with glinting, gold eyes, and it trills happily when Merlin offers his palm. He cannot crush this fine delicate thing, this little dragon with paper-thin wings and, inexplicably, a warm fluttering breast. Merlin nuzzles the dragonlet against his cheek, then deposits it on his shoulder. 

"Maybe Arthur would like you for company in his rooms?" He asks, but only feels his heart fold in on itself, hopeless, when the tiny dragon trills at him again. 

*

Magic is like this: 

Ever unfolding, perpetually changing, shifting, quicksilver and clouds. 

Merlin tries to grasp it and shape it, but instead of letting itself be held, it surrounds him, fills him up from the inside out, twines around his breath and slips from his fingertips into the air around him. 

He does it for Arthur (only for Arthur, always). 

He's done great things for Arthur; he worries that he would do greater things, move worlds and raise oceans, and that Arthur would not be able to read those signs, either. 

He's done small things, too, but this he cannot do: work magic subtle enough to make his love legible. 

* 

"No," he says, when the little dragon flutters a wing next to Merlin's ear, ruffling his hair a bit. "I suppose I can't."

The rabbit, the fox, and the dove he can leave in the forest. Even the unicorn that appeared outside his window after he fell asleep attempting magic intricate enough to create fine metalworking could slip into the cool green forest and survive.

But a bright little dragon with parchment-thin wings could never live out here; he's too small not to be scared. He could unfold his wings at the wrong moment, or the sun might catch his eyes and the gold might glint too brightly, and Merlin's little dragon would fold in on itself for the last time. 

The thought makes Merlin's chest ache. 

Magic is like this, too: too bright, too relentless in its need to unfold and unfold in too many directions. 

*

Arthur finds him in the forest, calls him careless, and something deep and painful catches immediately in Merlin's chest. 

He knows he looks ridiculous, and he feels ridiculous, standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the small menagerie of magical animals he's summoned up in the hopes of giving Arthur a gift. 

At his shoulder, the paper dragon flutters frantically, and Merlin feels hot tears spill down his cheeks. 

"I hadn't wanted it to be like this," he says, and lowers his eyes, "I'd hoped for something quiet, subtle, a sign--"

"--nothing about you is subtle," Arthur says, his voice almost cruel. His touch is light, though, and gentle as he brushes the tears from Merlin's cheeks even as they continue to fall. "How can I protect you if you continue to magic up the most unsubtle of beasts?"

Merlin sniffles and shrugs, and the ache in his chest flares into something different, though just as sharp. "You-- I'm protecting you!" 

"Then you must protect yourself, too," Arthur replies. His hand slides down Merlin's face to cup his cheek and his voice is low and soft, and when he steps closer to Merlin, there is light, and kindness, and caring in his eyes. 

Thus, when Arthur asks him not to be careless, follows the request with a kiss, Merlin cannot help but give him both. He has not been as blind as Merlin feared, he has not asked Merlin to be something he cannot be, to make himself completely illegible and hidden. 

Instead, when he kisses Merlin, it is as if all the magic that Merlin has inside of him wants to enfold him, to gather Arthur in close to him and surround the both of them. 

At Merlin's shoulder, the paper dragon flutters and his wings unfold to soar into the sky above their heads. 

Merlin has a gift for Arthur now, his leather jacket covered in intricate detail, wrought in gold and magic, all the spells he's tried to cast in the past few weeks finally fulfilled. He'll offer Arthur the little dragon, too, if only to see its red wings and gold eyes flash brightly in the firelight of the prince's chambers.


End file.
